


Embers

by smileybagel



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Circus, Angst, Circus/Carnival AU, Gen, Grief, Major character death - Freeform, Races of Middle Earth Still Exist, Unexplained Cause of Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:47:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3217988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smileybagel/pseuds/smileybagel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Carnival is in town, but it's not the same, not since a devastating fire took the lives of thirteen of its performers and left one behind to mourn...No one visits his tents. Children who brave it run away screaming and in tears, crying about nightmares and tales too sorrowful to repeat. Sometimes flames lick at the edges of his tent and the heat rises and terrible screams are heard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Embers

**Author's Note:**

> For my own prompt on hobbit_kink.

  
_See that creature there? With the white make-up and black costumes? They say he used to smile. Really! Ask the Ringmaster if you don't believe me. But he did, he used to smile so wide you thought his face would split in half. One day, as many of the circus folk say...he just stopped. Maybe it was heartbreak or loneliness, no one is certain. Will you watch him? Will you sit and listen as he weaves tales of dragons and gold?_

In the valley of the old Kingdom of Erebor, new cities and villages sprung up, filling the space that had once been drenched in the blood of many. Of course, no one really remembered the history of the Lonely Mountain, so it was lost to time, and no one living bothered to revive it. 

But in the new cities, where elves, men, and dwarves mingled in peace, every so often a traveling circus would pass through. When the circus first came, it brought joy and happiness to everyone! The flyers advertising the event seemed to appear on the walls of buildings overnight, announcing the grand opening of the Oaken Carnival and displaying the dates of its limited engagement. Children and adults alike were eager to get tickets and explore the carnival, which left the streets of the city nearly empty. 

The first night was a grand success.

The city folk marveled at the attractions and filled the striped tents, so very excited to see what wonders they hid. In all, the carnival had fourteen people as their main attractions, aside from the games, rides, and food stands. The Ringmaster, a great man of wondrous height and swathed in grey robes, welcomed them all with wide arms, wishing them a merry night as they explored the marvels his friends had for them.

The first tent housed the Strong Man, a great giant of a dwarf who could lift thousands of pounds and not break a sweat. On special occasions, he even lifted some of the circus animals over his head, which would have broken the back of any regular dwarf or man. 

The second tent was home to the Seer, the Strong Man's older brother, and many went to him to have their fortunes told. Never did he speak a lie, and though some predictions took time to come true, they all came to fruition, whether they held the answers to love, wealth, family, or health. The Seer knew everything: past, present, and future. 

_(Did he see their end, some people wondered. Did the Seer gaze upon their coffins of ash?)_

The third tent housed three brothers, all clothed in knit, who could rip open the very fabric of time and space. They used this ability to disappear from sight and reappear again in a different spot. Sometimes, they brought with them strange relics from the past, long since forgotten, or perhaps a trinket a customer had lost some time ago. They enjoyed seeing the delight on people's faces with they did such, and often returned lost items to spark a smile or two.

 

The fourth tent had a toymaker with his silly hat and pigtail braids. At first, no one knew what special talent he had, besides his marvelous ability to make wooden toys almost look real, until he leaned down and whispered a few words to his completed toys. With unknown magic, the toys sprang to life! Children ooh-ed and aw-ed, clapping and laughing while little toy soldiers marched around the tent, and wooden animals darted between their legs. It was not uncommon for the Toymaker to send each child off with a special toy of their own.

The fifth tent was home to the Toymaker's brother, the Bottomless Pit. The old ginger-haired dwarf never minded his title, as it only told the truth. He could sit in his tent, waited on by the circus' staff, and be fed all night, never once growing full or emptying his stomach in a fit of nausea. Only those with iron stomachs braved his tent, and even they left a little green in the face. But they still ventured to his tent because it surely was a grand sight to see.

The Toymaker and Bottomless Pit's cousin resided in the sixth tent, surrounded by stone and gems. Many people gasped in fright as they entered, for the sight of a mighty axe lodged in his skull made many of them feel faint. How could he be alive, the people who say. But the dwarf simply waved them in with a smile on his face, and spoke in the old tongue, bringing the stone to life much like his Toymaker brother breathed life into wood.

The seventh tent was home to a husband and his wife, the Bearded Lady. They both wore golden lockets around their necks, which held pictures of their perfect family. Flame haired, all of them, with magnificent beards that could rival a wizards. Their son, only seen in pictures, was a lad of twelve (in human years), but his beard was as long as his father's.

The eight tent was the Medic's tent, who was presented with patients and corpses alike each night the carnival was open. He performed amazing surgeries and could even bring the dead back to life, if even only for a minute of two. The faint of heart were not permitted to enter his tent, lest they keel over and become his next cadaver. 

The ninth tent held princes, or so the story went, who were born as one. Everyone called them the Conjoined Twins, though their similarities started with their noses and ended there, but nonetheless they were brothers to the very end. They dazzled the crowd with amazing weapon skills and soaked up the applause, matching grins on their faces. 

_(Though, if one looked closely, they could see scars upon their one body, as if... as if someone had sewn them together. The Medic, maybe...?)_

The tenth tent was where the Gilded King sat upon a throne of precious stones. Uncle to the twins, the Gilded King awed many people with his control of gems. He would center himself with a deep breath and concentrate, eyes close as started his show. The stones around him, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, diamonds, and more, levitated from the ground and floated, dancing through the air and creating beautiful visions as they reflected light from the candles in the tent. It was a silent show, with only the quiet whispers of wonder from the crowd, and it would end as soon as it began. 

In the very last tent, the fourteenth main attraction of the carnival sat in a very comfy armchair. A table next to him was home to a cup of tea, a pipe, and large book, its pages old and worn with use. He was no dwarf, and certainly not an elf or man. Some thought maybe he was a Hobbit, but that was nonsense, because everyone knew Hobbits went extinct long ago, and besides, the Weaver of Tales never let anyone have a clear view of feet, so often they were covered with a large blanket. But his questionable race aside, the Weaver held a great mastery of the spoken word, and many children would clamor to his tent night after night to listen to him. Not only did the know how to tell a story, the Weaver could make it come to life. Images of princesses and dragons would fill the tent, followed by green fields and vast oceans. Animals cooed from the tent, and the clash of steel as knights fought for honor entertained the children. They always left the Weaver's tent with wide smiles on their faces.

 

But one day, many years after the circus' first appearance, something happened. Something dreadful, something terrible, and the circus was never the same. No one in the valley of the Old Kingdom knew what happened since it occurred elsewhere, but they knew something was different the moment the circus returned. It looked the same from the outside, that was for sure, but once the city folk stepped inside, a mighty chill crawled up their spines.

Whispers of fire darted around the circus, and ten of tents that once housed the many dwarves of the circus were closed or home to new, less marvelous attractions. The air about the circus was somber, and the children, hoping to escape it, ran to the only remaining tent and person they remembered so dearly.

The Weaver sat, still in his plush armchair, but missing his book and his pipe and his tea. His eyes gazed sadly at the children, a silent plea for them to leave, for he could not tell them any happy stories, not like before. Instead, before he could stop them, words describing his nightmares fell from his lips. He spoke of dragon fire, of a great heat stifling his lungs, and of terrible screams. The flames spread, he told them, and engulfed everything, leaving nothing untouched. A thick smell hung in his tent, a mix of burnt hair and something truly foul, and it sent most children running out of the tent to find their parents. Some stayed, hoping this was all some horrid trick and the Weaver would make a happy ending, but on he went, detailing so much death and destruction. Children screamed as flames began to lick at the tent's fabrics, and great hissing could be heard, as if a fire drake was just outside. They too, fled in horror, until one by one, each child left, leaving the old Weaver by himself.

And he wept, openly and ashamed, as he had every night since the great fire took his beloved friends and family. He wished the fire he conjured with words would eat him up too, but it never harmed him, and only burned while he was asleep, lost in a nightmare. 

People soon stopped coming to his tent altogether, through the Ringmaster kept him within the circus and never once asked the Weaver to close his tent or to leave. It was the only consolation he could give the old storyteller, as he was loathe to part from what had been his home for so many years, even though his family no longer lived. 

Often, when the carnival went dark and closed for the day, the Weaver would remain in his armchair, with his legs drawn up to his chest and wrinkled face wet with tears, and he would speak of his family. Though try as he might, their stories were the only ones he could never bring to life, not even for a moment. Whatever power he had was bound only to fictional tales and to his nightmares, and never was he able to conjure a single happy memory of his lost ones.

_Old Bilbo,_  
He never smiled,  
After the flame defiled.  
Stuck in this haunted dream,  
Cursed forever to hear their screams.  
Sweet Bilbo,  
Have you cried?  
Everyone you love has died.

Little Bilbo,  
Can you smell the ash?  
That is what follows when you act brash.  
Dragonfire as been your fate,  
Even in these years so late.  
Poor Bilbo,   
In this heat so strong,  
Their suffering won't be long.  
But their screams you'll hear,  
For many a year,  
Until your life is done.  



End file.
